Roses Don't Bloom
by fellinreverse
Summary: The transformation story of Bella.


"I should really tell mother on him-" she stopped.

The girl walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea. She had to move on, she knew that. She couldn't grieve forever; no one had time for that.

The hallway was decorated with brightly colored paintings. Her father had moved all of the family photos to his study, a place off limits to Missa. She discovered the paintings in place of the photos and begged her father to put them back. Her father refused. They upset him too much, he said. He could barely walk past them. She had gotten her mother's beautiful red hair and it flowed behind her as she walked to the dining room. One of the maids met her at the door way. "Miss, I hate to bother you but I simply must ask." The maid's eyes flicked side to side. "See, we've just run out of vinegar needed to clean these wooden floors. I don't like to be a bother to you, but I know that the Missus (her mother) kept a supply of vinegar in the basement. But the basement, you see, is locked. Would you open it for us if you are free?" The girl nodded.

As the walked down the stairs, Missa heard a scraping sort of noise. It must be the mice, the girl told herself. As the tomcats had aged, they had gotten lazier and lazier. They didn't catch anything, and as a result, mice were frequently spotted in the house. She continued down the stairs, not giving it a second thought.

At the end of the stairs was a cellar door. Missa pulled out a set of keys from her dress pocket. She fumbled with them a bit and the maid looked away, but at last she had it and unlocked the door. The air was musty and dank. The room was so dark, she couldn't barely make out the packed shelves. The maid motioned for her to stay put and stepped into the darkness. A few minutes later the maid returned with a wooden jug, the vinegar, Missa presumed.

She took her time up the stairs. The downstairs consisted of storage space, the basement, and her father's study. All places she rarely had a real reason to be. This was an opportunity. She walked back down the stairs. She noticed the scraping hadn't stopped, it had only gotten louder. That wasn't mouse-like at all.

The maid had long gone up the stairs, and left by herself, she decided to figure out the source of the noise. She walked, listening to the sounds, and found herself right outside the study.

She could hear it better now, more of a scratching. The sound clearly emitted from the study. Missa gently pressed her head against the door and listened for her father. The scratching had slowed down a bit, as if it, whatever it was, had tired. It persisted still. She hesitated only a moment before throwing open the door.

The room was dark but after her eyes adjusted, the daughter almost screamed. In the middle of the floor, drawn in what looked like blood, laid an incantation circle. Her stomach had begun to do flips and somersaults, but she took a step forward nevertheless. The closer she got to it, the worse she felt. Once more, she stepped forward and felt the bile rising to her throat. Anger and betrayal washed over her. What was all this? Why was it a secret? The image of her father cracked a little. What else did she not know about?

A wave of nauseous ness rolled over and she jumped back to get away. Her escape endeavor fell short, and she slipped into the middle of the circle. She stumbled to get back on her feet, but the circle had begun to glow. She drew quick breaths and watched in horror as the circle emitted small droplets of warm black goo. The liquid had nearly consumed her. She fought against it with writhed arms and clenched teeth, but everything weighed down on her. Forces of a kind she'd never felt before. She collapsed.

Missa's eyes opened slowly. She took her time getting off the floor and propped herself up on the nearest chair. Vivid flashbacks of the incantation circle flooded through her mind. She looked around the room wearily and after seeing no evidence of the incident, relief shot through her. It must have been a dream, no a nightmare. She was safe in her father's study. "Oh shit! Oh shit! I'm not supposed to be here!" She muttered as she ran out the door. He could be here in any second. Her father whistled at the top of the stairs. A sign he was in a bad mood. She raced out of the study and closed the cellar door just as he reached the last step. She breathed heavily as she felt the wall for a light switch. She found it, the old pulley kind. The light blinded her for a few seconds but then she could see again, and jumped in surprise. A few inches from her stood a horrific painting of a girl with dark hair and streaks of reddish purple. She didn't look unlike Missa. She extended a hand to touch it. It was cold. Not a painting but a mirror.

The realization hit her hard. Everything had been so real. There was no way it was just a dream.

She had read a few paragraphs about it, the transformation, in a book her father had left on the dining room table. Curious by the deep red cover, she had flipped through to the last page.

The book had said that after the transformation, vampires would often look much like their original self, with a few different features. She backed away from the mirror, her hand covered her mouth. She couldn't scream, the servants and her father would come. The only option she could think of was to run away.


End file.
